Pancakes
by Jessa4865
Summary: John lends a hand when Jos is having a hard day. Carter/Reese Complete


Pancakes  
Jezyk  
Spoilers: Nothing in particular  
Disclaimer: Not mine.

He held his breath as he stood outside the door. It was probably a bad idea. Any ideas he came up with while he was having a beer in an attempt to cure a foul mood were always bad. Unfortunately, realizing they were bad and resisting them were two very different things.

He raised his hand and knocked, two solid taps, biting back his instinct to pick the lock. She'd been weird with him all day and letting himself into her place without her permission was probably not the way to get her to confide in him. He wasn't really even sure he wanted her to confide in him. He just needed to know what was going on. He'd gone home and changed his clothes and considered putting the game on, but her behavior kept bugging him. He wouldn't be able to relax until he talked to her. He wanted, needed, to know that everything was ok, that she was ok. As long as everything was fine, he could deal with her acting distracted and bored on the phone.

He supposed it was boring, constantly being dragged into complicated messes that interfered with her job and her personal life and never getting more than the occasional thank you she likely had no idea he truly meant.

Just as he was pondering knocking again and arguing with himself that he should simply walk away, he heard a thump from inside the apartment, followed by a loud, completely un-Carter-like string of curses. Eyes wide and adrenaline pumping, he reached for the gun tucked at his back and stepped back to kick the door in.

It swung open before he had the chance, revealing a slightly disheveled Carter. She was barefoot and wearing sweatpants, along with the blue blouse she'd worn to work that day. Her hair was actively escaping from the clip she'd had it back in, short pieces pointing in every direction. Her mascara was smeared under her eyes, but he couldn't tell if it was due to tears or rubbing.

Even more telling than her appearance was the fact that she didn't say a word. She just stared at him.

"Jos?" He tried to peek around her to see what had caused the commotion.

"Tripped over the coffee table." She sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping as she turned around and let the door swing open all the way. There was a thick quilt on the couch, an open carton of ice cream with a spoon sticking out of it on the coffee table, and a couple beer bottles lying empty on the floor. She set the beer she was holding on the table and turned back to face him, her hand rubbing the back of her neck.

"I'll go get dressed." She took two slightly unsteady steps toward the bedroom and then stopped. "You'll have to drive, though."

"No, Carter, that's not-" he trailed off, unsure what to make of her expression. Of course she would assume he was there for her help. He'd never come to see her just to check on her before. He couldn't tell if she was upset or confused or… it was the alcohol, it had to be. She wasn't putting on a front. At that moment, he wasn't looking at Detective Carter. He was looking at Jos.

He stepped forward, his heart racing when he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder to prod her back toward the couch. "Something was bothering you today and obviously still is, so I wanted to make sure-"

The way she was staring made him nervous. She was open, curious, but still somewhat guarded. He had a chance here. A real chance. Depending on his words and behavior, he could actually change what she thought of him.

He sat down beside her and offered her the beer she'd abandoned. "Is something wrong?"

Rather than the quick, emphatic denial the detective would have issued, Jos shrugged one shoulder and rolled the bottle between her palms. "No, not really, you know." She met his eyes for a moment. "Do you want a beer?"

Offering him a beer meant she wanted him to stick around. Offering him a beer meant she might actually be willing to talk. Offering him a beer meant there was something she wanted to talk about. He couldn't reject the overture. But suddenly he feared that whatever was wrong with her was going to end badly for him. He told himself that Carter would hardly mince words if she had an issue with him. Besides, they'd shared a few drinks in the past and were, at least in his mind, working towards an actual friendship. Having a beer and persuading her to confide in him could only help foster that trust.

He nodded. "Yeah, a beer sounds good."

"Help yourself." She waved vaguely toward the kitchen. "Mine's kind of hot, get me a fresh one?"

Taking in the way she'd snuggled into the couch and tucked her toes into the cushions, he couldn't blame her resistance to move. "Two beers, coming right up." When he returned, he watched her down almost half hers in one sip.

She caught his stare, her brows knitting together. "What? Like you've never tried to drown your sorrows."

Considering how tanked he'd been the night they met, he wasn't going to argue. "I guess Taylor's not home?"

"Sent him to his grandmother's."

He took a sip from his bottle and considered his options. She didn't seem to mind that he was there, but she didn't see all that open to talking either. Maybe she was; maybe she just needed him to indicate that he was willing to listen.

"Want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Though her face showed no sign of deception, her body language did. She was picking at the label of her beer, scratching at it with her thumb nail.

"You know what they say about people who peel the labels off beer bottles, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but stopped anyway. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm really not in a great mood."

"That's why I'm here," he tried again. He settled back, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, his body sinking into the soft cushions while his other hand held his beer on his leg. He wanted to appear as calm as possible, hoping she would relax in kind.

Her eyes searched his for a moment. He could tell she wanted to say something, but what, he had no idea. Then her eyes shifted down, an amused, curious expression coming to her face.

"Hey, where's your suit?"

He'd expected she would mention his casual jeans and t-shirt; she had been the one to dub him 'the man in the suit' after all, but he hadn't expected what he could only term as obvious approval on her face. He cleared his throat and resisted the urge to fidget nervously. "I don't always wear a suit."

"I thought that damn thing was surgically attached."

"I have more than one suit too." He wasn't entirely sure if she was teasing or flat out making fun of him. He was hoping for the former, the hope encouraged by her smile.

"Could have fooled me." Her eyes finally moved back to his. "You look different."

"So different it took you twenty minutes to notice?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I've been drinking," she laughed. "I'm slower than normal."

"Different how?" While he generally didn't care what people thought of him, Carter was an exception. She'd always been an exception. He was genuinely curious to know how she saw him.

She shrugged. "More normal? More human?" She shrugged again and took a sip. "I don't know - not that different, I guess. You're still unnaturally attractive." Her head ducked down, her eyes squeezed closed, her cheeks turning red.

He chuckled and tried to pretend he was better at accepting compliments than he really was. Women who flirted with him always made him self-conscious, whether he was interested in them or not. An assessment like that from Carter was liable to make him stutter.

She held up her beer. "Sorry, I-uh-" Her eyes peeked up through her lashes at him, her face scrunched up in embarrassment.

He couldn't help but grin. Yeah, normally a comment like that from a woman like her would make him act stupid and embarrass himself in return. But from Carter, it made him feel good. He wanted to smile. He wanted to let her see it. "I know, you've been drinking." He winked. "Still, it's nice to hear that from a beautiful woman."

If she was going to flirt, then he was going to flirt right back.

There was a long moment between them, their eyes locked on each other, before her smile faded. Her sigh sounded heavy as she glanced at the muted television. He couldn't ask again without it seeming like he was prying. He was prying, but only out of genuine concern.

Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe she wasn't saying anything because there was nothing to say. Maybe it was just an off day and she wanted to have a few beers and be depressed and she'd be fine in the morning. Maybe the next thing out of her mouth would be an invitation for him to leave.

He sipped at his beer, trying to convince himself to get up, to say good night, to leave before she kicked him out.

"It would have been seventeen years today." Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear.

"What?" It only took him a moment to put it together, to see the shining band on her left hand that she never wore.

She was staring at it, fiddling with it with her thumb. "It feels weird. I haven't worn it in so long. Just felt like I should put it on today." She poured back the rest of her beer in one sip. "I never even think about him anymore. Doesn't seem right."

When he saw the tears in her eyes, his heart twisted in his chest. He hadn't realized it was her anniversary. Hell, most of the time he forgot she'd ever been married. "I'm sorry, Carter, I-" He scooted forward, setting his beer on the table. "I'll leave you alone."

Her head snapped up from the contemplation of her wedding band. "No, don't." Her eyes seemed sincere, her expression more distraught at the prospect of him leaving.

"You sure?" He tentatively sat back at her nod. "If you change your mind, just let me know."

"I'm sure. I got married because I didn't want to be alone all the time." She glanced at the empty bottle in her hand and pouted.

"Here, have mine." He passed his mostly full beer to her. "I think you need it more than me."

She took a sip without bothering to wipe the lip and for some reason, it made him want to smile. It was a level of intimacy he'd truly never expected from her. She laughed ruefully, shaking her head at something he missed. "Widowed before thirty, never saw that one coming. Always thought I'd be different from my mom, thought my kid would remember his father, thought I'd get to grow old with someone and we could complain about our aches and pains when we were ninety."

"You've got plenty of time, Carter."

She chuckled and shook her head again. "Yeah, I've got so much free time to date." Sitting up, she pushed the spoon around in the half-melted ice cream. "I should miss him more and he's dead and here I am complaining about my love life."

"Does Taylor ask about him?"

"Not anymore. He was curious when he first started school and met some of his friends' dads. Taylor doesn't even remember him. I guess it's better that way, maybe it's easier to not have a dad at all than to lose one."

Reese realized quite suddenly that he hadn't dug that deeply into Carter's personal life all those eons ago when she was trying to arrest him. He'd known she was widowed and that it had been several years, but once he'd discovered that she'd been in Afghanistan and Iraq post-9/11, he'd assumed her husband had been killed in the same conflict.

"What happened to him?" He asked softly, knowing he could find out the information easily enough, knowing that Finch likely already had the answer. He wanted her to tell him. He wanted her to trust him.

"Car accident in Kenya. He was deployed there after the embassy bombing." She pushed the blanket off her lap and stood, heading toward the kitchen with the ice cream. "Asshole never could keep his damn hands on the wheel. Used to scare the shit out of me when he drove."

She stopped halfway across the room and glanced back at him. "Do you want another beer?"

"No, no, I'm good." He hadn't meant it as a sign that he wanted to leave, but that was how she took it.

Her face fell. "Oh, yeah, ok, I'm sure you have somewhere to be. Thanks for coming by." She turned and disappeared into the kitchen before he could correct her.

He followed her, waiting in the doorway and watching her replace the ice cream in the freezer. She dropped the spoon in the dishwasher and dumped the rest of her beer into the sink. It was only when she turned around, leaning back against the counter with a heavy sigh, that he realized she thought he'd left.

"Jos-"

"Jesus!" She jumped, holding a hand to her chest. "I thought you were gone. You scared the shit out of me."

"Didn't mean to scare you." He offered a half a smile.

"Make some damn noise when you move next time."

"Sorry, training." The importance of moving silently had been drilled into his head for so many years that he wasn't sure it was even possible to change anymore. "I didn't say I was leaving. I just didn't want another beer."

She smiled back, her eyes falling over the overturned bottle in the sink. "Me either. It never makes me feel better." She glanced at him and then lowered her eyes. "Just reminds me I'm alone, which is usually what I started drinking to forget."

"You're not alone, Jos. I'm certain I've told you that before." He knew he shouldn't look back fondly on the night she'd been shot, when she could have been killed, when she'd looked up at him with pain and terror in her eyes. But he couldn't help it. That night, when he'd taken her hand, he'd known. He'd suspected before that, of course, simply because the woman had entranced him in a way no other ever had, but the moment he'd touched her, he'd known for sure. She was important. She meant something. She belonged with him.

It wasn't something he was quite ready to tell her about however. It was the sort of life-changing realization that one needed to come to on their own.

"Yeah, well, I feel alone."

"You're not." Times like this made him wish he was more like Finch, eloquent and well-spoken and able to explain precisely what he meant in so few words. Language failed Reese more often than not and unfortunately, this wasn't a situation where he could rely on his fists to convey his feelings.

Her eyes climbed back to his, tears gathered but not yet falling. "Do you ever wish you had someone who would just hold you?"

She wasn't asking for a hug; she didn't expect he would agree. She was simply hoping that he might understand how she felt. She thought he was probably the one person on Earth who could commiserate.

He stepped forward. "I'm right here, Jos."

She bit her lip, her cheeks coloring red again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot-"

"I know." He took another step, his hand moving to her waist and pulling her forward. "Come here."

She leaned in, her body shaking with either nerves or relief, and she slipped her arms around his waist. Though Reese was the last man in the world to wax poetic, he had to admit it felt completely right when his arms closed around her. She did belong with him and maybe, given the way she was clinging to him, she had realized that too.

They remained like that for a long time, Reese enjoying the closeness more than he'd expected to. Just like before, he felt the strength of this connection, a tie that defied all logic, and it astounded him. He hadn't realized how much he missed the comfort of touching someone like that, someone he could trust, someone who would let him be himself.

When it finally occurred to him that she wasn't about to move, he realized how desperately she'd missed that contact too. He didn't pry into her social life, but in all the time he'd known her, she'd never once mentioned having a date. All the times he'd called for assistance, though she tended to drag her feet, she always came through. And obviously, she wouldn't be asking him for a hug if she had a boyfriend to ask.

Moving his hand to the back of her head, he pulled back just enough to see her face. "Why don't we sit down?"

She nodded, but hesitated to move before she withdrew her arms. "Yeah, sorry." She started to walk away, pausing to look back. "Thanks."

He followed her back to the living room, watching as she switched off the TV. She surveyed the room, sighed at the sight of empty bottles, and shrugged at herself.

"I think I'm just going to go to bed. I'll clean this mess up in the morning."

Reese knew that was his cue to leave, but he couldn't seem to make himself move. She was standing at the doorway of her room, her eyes downcast, her shoulders drooping. She didn't want him to leave any more than he wanted to go.

And he wasn't going to make her ask again.

He moved to the hall, his hand hovering over the light switch. "On or off?"

"Off, thanks. Lock the door behind you." She had already disappeared into her room by the time the darkness surrounded him.

He followed her once again, smirking at her surprise when he stepped into her room.

"What are you," her words trailed off when her eyes moved back to his. "Never mind, I trust you."

With that, she turned back to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in. She reached for the lamp, but paused before she turned it off. "Do you want the light on?"

"It's up to you." Reese sat on the edge of her bed, pulling his shoes off as she turned off the light and snuggled down into the blanket. Encouraged by her lack of argument, he shifted around to tuck himself under the blanket behind her, settling his arm around her waist and pulling her against him.

She pushed herself back into his embrace, lacing her fingers through his and drifting off to sleep.

#####

She always woke up early when she'd been drinking the night before, so it was quite a shock for her to wake up and find the sun had already risen. It had been the company, she decided, the warmth, the comfort, the security that John always loaned her just by being around. She wasn't even upset that he was long gone, the space beside her cold and empty. Disappointed, perhaps, but not upset. He'd done far more than she'd honestly expected; he'd proven to be far more of a friend than she would have thought.

Thirst drove her to climb to her feet and head for the kitchen, but as she entered the hall, the sound of the dryer running caught her by surprise. "Damn it," she growled, running her fingers through her hair and straightening the sloppy clothes she'd slept in. She'd planned on cleaning up the mess of empty beer bottles in the living room before Taylor came home. She never wanted her son to know when she was having a hard time.

But he knew, certainly if the teenager had stooped to trying to help her out by doing laundry.

She plastered a smile on her face and walked into the kitchen, the greeting she'd planned to offer her son turning into a startled squeak.

John looked up from the pan and grinned. "Hungry?"

"What-I-um," she stuttered, her attention called to his bare chest and the way his hips tapered into his jeans. He was barefoot and shirtless and making pancakes.

It made her wonder exactly how much she'd had to drink.

"I used your washer, hope you don't mind." He flipped the pancakes over one at a time, every bit as at home in the kitchen as he was in a bar brawl. The man never ceased to amaze her. "My shirt looked, well," he shrugged, "like I'd slept in it."

She watched as he plated two pancakes and poured more batter into the pan. Overwhelmed wasn't even the word to describe how she felt. She felt like adoration and affection and friendship and gratitude and love had strangled her. She couldn't fight it; she didn't even try.

Instead, she crossed the floor, stepping up behind him and wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his back and holding him tight. She didn't even realize what she was doing when her lips touched his shoulder.

"Thank you."

One of his hands moved along her arms, his fingers caressing. "For the pancakes? I'm hungry too."

"No, for everything."

He turned then, forcing her to relax her hold, his hands moving up as hers dropped down. He cupped her cheeks and smiled. "Any time, Jos."

She couldn't help but smile back at him, feeling a hell of a lot better than she had the night before, not to mention a hell of a lot less alone. "For the record, any time you need a hug…"

"Good to know." He leaned forward, pressing his lips against her forehead in a gentle kiss. "But first, breakfast."

Perhaps it was the company, but Jos would swear they were the best pancakes she'd never had.


End file.
